


My Eternal Summer

by thechestofsilver



Series: Raffles Week 2019 [2]
Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Bunny Manders appreciation, M/M, Raffles is very much in love, Raffles the Artist, Summer, a day in the country, rafflesweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 07:36:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18090143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechestofsilver/pseuds/thechestofsilver
Summary: Raffles and Bunny escape London for a peaceful day in the country.





	My Eternal Summer

**Author's Note:**

> For Raffles week day 2: "All honour to the sporting rabbit!" and day 3: "Does the painter paint for bread alone?"

There was no crime on the agenda that day—there was no agenda at all, really. Filled with the vitalising hopes of summer and our hearts light as air, Bunny and I boarded a train, and left the stifling city for the fresh countryside. July treated England well this season, and it was a lush and green landscape that flew by the window, under a clear-blue sky. Bunny whistled a silly melody in the compartment, and I laughed and kicked his leg when he went into an even sillier one. We got off at the most modest and tattered station; the train throbbed away into the distance, leaving us only with dust and blissful silence, and with the heat radiating off the brick walls and steel rails with inexhaustible endurance. Into the woods we retreated; and, after trusting in the wisdom of a trampled trail, soon found ourselves in the sweetest of glades, where the sun broke through the leafage and a joyous stream could be heard singing yonder behind the trees.

On a set of sturdy rocks we had our lunch; then Bunny sat down with a novel, and I took out my sketchpad. For a minute or two I walked around the glade, searching for inspiration, but soon enough I sat down to capture the image I in any case would have surrendered to in the end. Suddenly I wished I had brought my colours and brushes, and a proper canvas—the light called for more than just pencil sketches. Memory would have to do for a later rendering, and I began drawing out the contours.

The lines practically drew themselves. Bunny was the perfect model: unaware, crawled up in the grass against a humble birch tree, and fully immersed in his literate adventure. Sometimes a frown moved his fair brow; sometimes a smile played on his parted lips. The sun streamed softly through the foliage, and cast gold in his gentle locks; and altogether, nature provided the ideal framing, from the wildflowers on the bushes to the moss on the ground. I did not spend too much time on them. Instead I took great pains in putting every possible detail of my Bunny down to paper, lest anything was lost in reminiscence. I smiled as I drew the delicate hands holding the book; my heart fluttered as I captured the long lashes under which his eyes searched the pages. You may call me sentimental, reader; but to my eyes, there was never anybody more effortlessly angelic, nor anyone who radiated such warmth: and in that moment—in this repose from winter—I felt it must be eternalised.

When no more could be done with the aid of a pencil, I stopped to take in what must be added later. At once, as if I had silently called him, Bunny looked up, and caught my eye.

“What are you doing?” he smiled.

“Drawing you, of course.”

“No…” He frowned. “Why?”

“Because you, my dearest rabbit, are the embodiment of summer.”

A delightful blush came upon his cheeks, and he mumbled something of “silliness”. I rose, and reached out my hand.

“Come,” I said. “We’ve both been sitting still for too long.”

Bunny clumsily climbed to his feet, and we set out on an exploration of the area. The stream was indeed close, and we balanced on the edge of it, broke the surface with our hands, and splashed ourselves and each other with the crystal clear water. We set off up a slope, through trees and over rocks, until we found ourselves out of the woods in a blossoming meadow. The sky opened up above us; a breeze swept our hair; and on a childish impulse, I took Bunny’s hand, and dragged him in a ridiculous dance across the field. He shrieked and laughed, trying to keep his balance—until we tumbled down on the grass, and he ended up on his back, with myself on top of him.

“Got you,” I whispered teasingly.

A delighted smile was my reward, and at once my heart was filled with something far warmer than the summer sun. With his face so near, I could count every freckle on the tanned cheeks and nose; I placed two fingers carefully on the satin soft skin under his eyes, and traced them slowly to his temple; I ran them through his sun-kissed hair, again, and again. The breeze had stilled. His eyes—the very image of the sun-sprinkled leafage in the glade, yet brighter still—looked steadily into mine, reassuring me with their kind light. I kissed him then; once, twice. He sighed against my lips, and I kissed him again. A breeze stirred the trees; a bird trilled in the distance. I lay my head on Bunny’s chest, my ear against his heart. One safe hand came up to stroke my back; another landed gently on my head, and slowly began to play around with my hair. I closed my eyes, feeling the steady beat. The sun was warm on my skin. If the moment lasted a minute or an hour I do not know, nor does it matter. It might have lasted forever—and in my heart, it did.


End file.
